


The Ties We Call Home

by LazyBaker



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, between season 1 and 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2711915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl is a loose cannon, but he's a loose cannon Rick needs. And with Daryl growing more and more distant, Rick is desperate to keep him from leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties We Call Home

_It’s hard to corner a man_ , Rick is eyeing the angel wings stitched onto the back of Daryl’s vest, _when you’re in the middle of the woods._

Daryl is a few steps ahead of him, light as ever on his feet and not aware of what’s going on inside of Rick’s head right now. Otherwise, Rick is certain he’d have a broken nose and his hunting-with-Daryl-privileges revoked for a long while.

But Rick is determined and he’s both running out of time and has plenty of it all at once.

Last night Daryl had slept farther away from their camp than Rick could ignore. It hadn’t been the first time, but Rick is desperate for it to be the last time.

It started innocently enough. A small worry that planted its roots in Rick's nerves. Watching Daryl set up his tent apart from the group. Daryl going off on his own to set up traps or hunt for any game no matter how small, gone for hours--more often gone before the sun rises and after the sun sets--when they spread out camp for more than a day. Rick doesn't need a badge to figure out that Daryl doesn't know what to do with himself. Doesn't know how he fits in with the dynamics of the group. It's a shame that he doesn't see how they depend on him. 

Rick knows. And because he knows this, the idea creeps in and it grows so large he can hardly think of anything else. It’s an occupying force and the worry is there right alongside it.

He scrapes a plan together. His palms are sweating and he can’t quite catch his breath. His heart is racing and he isn’t sure if it’s from nerves that have been long ingrained into him or from the excitement of what he’s about to do. Rick scrubs a hand over his beard, keeping an eye on Daryl.

Rick has never had sex with a man.

He'd met Lori when they were still in high school. Married her when he'd turned eighteen, with Lori a few months older than him. He'd proposed to her the night of his birthday, after the small party with his family. Shane had spent the entire night elbowing him in his side, a painful jab that always seemed to hit the same spot, giving him that look that made Rick want to either punch him in the face or in the gut. The ring was in his pocket and he'd regretted telling Shane his plans the second he opened his mouth to explain why he was sweating so much.

He'd driven Lori home, walked her to her front door and dropped to one knee. She'd cried and he'd had to bite his cheek till it bled to keep his composure and two decades later they're both still wearing their rings.

Lori had been the third woman he'd ever slept with. The last woman--person--he thought he'd ever touch. He'd had little fantasies about other women before the turn that got him by on nights where Lori was too tired or just plain didn't want to roll around in the sheets with him.

A few passing thoughts about men too. Living in King County, Georgia he knew not to share those thoughts, no matter how fleeting or apart from reality they were. It would be a mistake to say anything like _that_ out loud. Shane never cared too much about sexuality and neither did Lori, but Rick had that gut feeling he came to rely on through most his life telling him to keep his mouth shut about that side of himself.

His experience with men up until now had been nil. Just thoughts and the occasional video when the mood for flat chests and strong backsides won out over curves and breasts. It was something he'd never dream of acting on, but he's had to shoot a walker in the shape of a dead little girl and he's pretty damn sure his wife has been screwing his best friend until he showed up. Things that shouldn’t happen were happening all over the damn place.

There are a lot of things he'd thought he'd never be doing now that the world has essentially ended. He rubs at his ring, a solid weight on his hand. He’s never noticed it much since putting it on. He knows he has a tan line underneath it. Pale skin showing to the world he’s taken. Or was taken. He’s not so sure anymore.

In this moment, the air thick with humidity and the only other sound is the man who can save them all who has no ties to any of them and no inclination to start any, Rick finds that he doesn’t much care.

He stops and settles his back against a sturdy looking tree, thick enough to take all of his weight. Daryl looks back at him and Rick’s heart is in his throat. He feels like he’s sixteen all over again and he’s about to fool around for the first time in the back of his father’s pick-up.

Except Daryl isn’t Rosie from English, a sweet girl who thought Rick had a sexy voice. He’s a man who has every reason to hate him for what he did to his brother, but Rick’s instincts are rarely wrong.

He may not be able to corner Daryl in the middle of the woods, but he can get Daryl to corner him.

“You okay?” Daryl says, gruff like always, hesitating a few feet in front of Rick.

It might be the way Rick’s hip is cocked out. How his hand is no where near his gun strapped to his side. It could be the way Rick tries to not make too much eye contact with the man, directs his gaze instead to the slip of skin Daryl is brandishing through his shirt. Pale despite how long they’ve been outdoors. He keeps his body non threatening. Vulnerable when it’s the last thing he should be in a place like this away from the others with only the two of them here against however the hell many walkers are roaming.

Whatever he does, Daryl comes closer and the air changes. The humidity is harsher with the two of them so close together. The forest disappears and all Rick can see is the man he can’t afford to lose.

It’s easier than Rick had thought it’d be.

He's got his back to a tree, bark rough against him through his sweat soaked shirt, and his hands are running down Daryl’s arms. Rick swallows, his mouth all too dry. Daryl isn’t looking at him. He’s not running either. He's not sure how he knows Daryl even swings this way, maybe it's just something you can recognize in other men. Sees that part of himself, the part that looks too long and too appreciative, when he looks at Daryl.

It’s a look he’s memorized in the mirror and tried to hide for as long as he’s known.

It could be that Daryl is young and handsome, rough around the edges and has a bite to him that'll reach the bone, but he's decent. Not once has Rick heard of him doing anything sordid with the women or even looking at them in any manner approaching being attracted to them. He’s got a foul mouth, but a good heart.

This could backfire spectacularly. Daryl has the kind of fury you only read about in the classics. Gods so fueled with rage and indignation that they scorch the world to dust. The kind of fire that'll burn him to ash so quick he won't even realize it before it's over and he's got burns covering him from head to toe.

It’s quick and fatal.

Daryl knows how to turn himself into a weapon--all lean muscle chiseled away in the past few weeks from lack of food and non-stop running--and Rick is counting on the slim chance of a gaze held too long meaning something more than ‘friendly’.

Rick rubs his hands up and down Daryl’s chest. Fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt. He doesn’t even try and undress him, too cautious of something wandering their way. It wouldn’t be good to have to fight a couple of walkers with their pants down. Rick smiles at the image, dips his head to hide it. Daryl’s chest is strong, thick. Daryl doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Rick chances a look--Daryl’s eyes are half way open and looking at Rick like he doesn’t know what to do.

“I got you.” Rick says, quiet. And he does. And the problem is he wants to grab hold of him and keep him.

The truth is that Daryl can survive on his own, knows how to live with nature and the group--his family--is unbearably ignorant.

Daryl has lost his brother because of Rick’s heavy handedness. Daryl has no ties to stay. No obligation. The thought of waking up one day without Daryl already up and sharpening his knife or making more arrows, is terrifying for Rick. They can't survive this world without him.

Rick pushes the thought of Lori out of his mind. Of what she'd say if she saw him and Daryl, hiding out in the woods and huddled together like the world hasn’t gone to shit. Lori’s glare is replaced by the back of Shane’s head.

What he focuses on is survival. And Daryl Dixon is survival, for Carl, for him, and his family.

Rick reaches further down, an abrupt swelling of courage bubbling in his chest, and rubs Daryl soft and then harder.

"What are you--" Daryl says. His bow dangling from his hand, his eyes jumping from the surrounding woods and back to Rick. Staring at Rick with wide open eyes. It makes him wonder if Daryl has ever been with a man before, if he’s as lost as Rick is. If he’s going by instinct as much as Rick is.

Rick shushes him, a soft hum to cover up his nerves. His hand doesn’t shake as he grips Daryl through his pants. The gesture seems obscene in the middle of the day. Rick bites his lip to stop from groaning.

He's never had sex with a man before. He's not even certain if this counts. Daryl is close enough that Rick gets a nose full of sweat and grease. He keeps his head bowed, watching the way Daryl's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

He could lean just a few inches more and lick that bead of sweat from Daryl's neck. He could lift his head up and kiss him, see what beard burn feels like. Would Daryl be aggressive? Would he be tentative like he is now? It would be a sweet kiss, one meant for a more tender moment. A kiss that would be between a man who isn’t married with a son and a man who isn’t grieving.

Instead he unzips Daryl's jeans, already loose from not eating nearly as much as he should. He reaches inside and finds that Daryl is hard and wet and Rick has never touched another man before. It's a different sensation to be stroking a cock that isn't his own.

He didn’t think it would be this good.

Daryl braces himself on the tree holding Rick up, one hand still gripping his bow, always prepared for a fight. Rick takes his time, wants Daryl to enjoy this. To want this to happen again. Rick finds himself panting along with Daryl, breathing hard like he's the one being touched. It feels like he is. With every stroke, every little jerk of Daryl's hips, Rick can feel himself nearing the edge.

"Fuck, Rick." Daryl moves in closer, his hips stuttering and pushing hard into Rick's hand. Rick looks up, watches Daryl's face pinch, his mouth hanging open. Pink and inviting. Despite how hard he's breathing, Daryl is quiet. If he wasn't so close Rick probably wouldn't be able to hear even that.

"Daryl, you close?" Rick's moves to say against the shell of Daryl's ear. He'd done the same with Lori, she'd always liked that. Said his voice could make mountains tremble and Rick is counting on it. Daryl is shaking and Rick reaches up with his free hand to grab the back of his neck. He wants to call Daryl ‘sweetheart’. Tell him he’s being so good for him.

Daryl is sweating, skin sticky and his hair becoming slick. He’s a mess. “You’re gorgeous.” Rick breathes out, no air in his lungs to account for.

He works his fist harder, moving his hand faster. The sight of it makes Rick’s hips twitch. Daryl is uncut. He's leaking all over Rick's hand and if he isn't careful Rick is going to have embarrassing and hard to explain stains on him. He pulls at Daryl's hair lightly and brings Daryl’s head to rest on his shoulder.

Rick kisses the top of his head, lips buried in greasy hair like his own. Daryl shudders, the bark of the tree creaking and crumbling under his hand. The sound makes Rick's knees buckle and he wants to run back to Lori and he wants Daryl to grab him and show him just how strong he can be.

He does neither. Daryl pushes away from him, Rick’s back slams into the trunk of the tree, and straightens his clothes. His face is flushed and he's glaring at Rick.

"What the hell was that?" Daryl says. Rick wipes his hand on the bark. He's hard and he has no answer that would satisfy himself, let alone Daryl. But he can't lie either. His gut had told him Daryl wouldn't mind being touched by a man--by him--and it's telling him that lying to Daryl would leave him with a permanent limp.

The air that had been so intimate evaporates with every step Daryl takes to put space between them. Rick wants to close the gap, but he doesn’t.

"I want you." It's the truth. Enough of it at least.

Daryl shakes his head, stepping away from him. "You're married. You got a kid."

"I have a wife who fucked my best friend." He's seen how Shane touches her. Looks at her. How the rest of the group look at Rick like he's a pitiful and oblivious husband. "And Carl ain't involved in this."

"And what is _this_?"

Rick shrugs. His hand is still wet and he can still feel Daryl's body against his own. "It don't need a name. We don't."

Daryl turns away. He's looking away from Rick, but he isn't glaring. He looks tired. He adjusts his bow so it's strapped firmly to his back. He looks back at Rick. Assessing him. Rick feels a spike of something run up his spine and down to his fingertips.

Daryl nods at him. Rick adjusts himself.

They have more time.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


End file.
